#divinetaste 01

[fangsmyth]

@divinetaste​

lanque isn’t a regular in archimedes by any means, at least not in the night time. so many other bars are just so exciting, and he’s built such a high reputation for being willing to get dirty. it’s almost too easy in the other wards, now. sometimes, he just needs a break.

he’s hardly ever been one to hesitate when approaching someone either, but it’s best to scope out the field before just picking whoever he can get his hands on... this one guy, though. so finely dressed, and such a particular palette. the troll can’t resist making his way over and asking.

“ i know everyone has their favorites, i just find it a bit interesting that you’ve been getting the same house red all night. ” for once, he doesn’t immediately make physical contact with him. lanque simply leans over dorian’s shoulder, observing the way he swirls the wine glass and how uncleanly it stains the crystalline goblet. an untrained eye could never tell, but lanque is simply too familiar with blood and booze to not be able to tell the difference.

his restraint doesn’t last for long, as his hand smooths down the pale man’s free arm and his chin rests on his shoulder. he whispers sweetly into his ear, a hint of raspberry coating his breath “ is it that good, baby? it’s so unfair that you’re keeping it all to yourself. ”

[byordeal]

@divinetaste ||  s.c

Amalie has been awake a day or two too long. There is something messy and terrible about the type of justice they had given, and Amalie, who has often been set back from their own handiwork, is feeling the weight of it. So, they take to fitful cat naps throughout the day, and spend more and more time prowling about and trying not to stay in one place for too long. It draws too much. 

After all, there is an intimacy in death that Amalie tries very hard not to be a part of. Imposing on it make them feel strange, and unwilling to bask in that, Amalie stays as detached as one can from the crime. 

Tonight is a questionable high fashion night, curled hair piled into a bun and coat wrapped up like a shroud around their shoulders. What they’re hunting for is still up in the air, but Amalie feels a bit like fresh berries and staring at the wine aisle until inspiration strikes in the form of a pretty label. 

All is well, until they get so far up in the clouds that they nearly get hit by someone on a motorbike, jumping back and stumbling in a way that’s pretty damn graceful for someone in heels that size. 

Realizing they’re not quite alone, Amalie has it in them to look sheepish.

“Let’s, pretend that didn’t happen, hm?”